Hermes baby

Hermes baby…

In today’s wonderful age of Information Technology, and I use the word wonderful

specifically here, with reference to its original etymological meaning “extraordinary;

puzzling; divine; terrifying…”, we have developed a soft spot for traditional Christmas magic.

Inspired by a book I received one year from my sister Maura for my birthday, when we could

still send each other parcels without the recipient being forced to pay punishing taxes upon

arrival, I started to write Christmas letters to our then, very young children. Recently, my

daughters mentioned how those letters were as eagerly anticipated as the presents left at

the fireplace in our former home in Hätschen. There they lay, beside the cup of milk and the

soot-marked plate of Christmas biscuits – tangible proof that Father Christmas had indeed

visited while we were out at midnight mass.

This tradition meant that I would spend the night of 23rd December in my study, writing the

‘letters’ on a roll of cream-coloured wrapping paper, chosen for its suitably sturdy,

parchment-like quality. The reverse side had music notes copied from an original score by

Mozart, in the master’s hand. Rolled up and tied with red string, they were more like

Christmas scrolls. The girls had ‘sent’ their letters (similarly scrolled) via Christkind, by means

of hanging them on a branch of the birch tree behind the house. We called this service

“Birke-Post” but it wasn’t very reliable – sometimes Christkind forgot to collect the letters (!)

and sometimes the wind blew them down during the night and they got covered with snow.

After the first few years of writing the Christmas letters, in an even more exaggerated spindly

handwriting than my own already is, I decided to switch to an old robin-egg blue Remington

travel typewriter, lest my identity as author of said ‘letters’ might be revealed. I would

decorate each with little drawings and for the main part, recount snippets from a life of an

imagined Father Christmas, living somewhere as cold as we did. At the same time, I would

mention details of recent achievements of each of our three daughters, challenges met and

mastered and disappointments too. Learning to ride a bicycle that summer or simply

memories of random acts of kindness that deserved highlighting, helping out after the

arrival of a new sister etc.

I would watch as their eyes would light up when their names were mentioned, whilst

reading the letter aloud. That, for me, was the real magic of Christmas.

When I came across this Hermes baby, I felt immediately drawn to it, like I am towards any

writing instrument, whether it be a pen-knife-sharpened pencil or a fountain pen, but also

because it was such a typewriter that enabled me to conceal my identity, all those many

years ago. It still holds, to this day, so many magical memories.

Whatever your Christmas magic is – sprinkle it generously…

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